


The Birth of Kuro

by SymphonicFantasia



Series: Shiro's Week 2016 [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blood Drinking, Gen, Mild Gore, Shiro Week 2016, Shiro Week 2016: Champion/Leader, at least mild descriptions of gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 07:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8614633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SymphonicFantasia/pseuds/SymphonicFantasia
Summary: There's a reason Shiro doesn't remember a majority of his fights as the Champion of the Galra Empire. A reason why Hagger sadistically made herself to look like him. There are demons inside him that he just isn't ready to face yet.





	

There is nothing he can use to compare this pain.

Shiro slams against the wall of the arena, falling to the ground with a sickening sound. His balance is off and the new arm isn't helping him much. In fact, it's the reason he's doing so poorly. After the Druids had picked him apart like he was their toy, he was given very little time to recover. Figuring out day and night on the ship is difficult, but he had to guess that it was only a day. One day to recover from his arm being cut open and off only to have a robotic prosthetic in its place isn't much time.

The creature that's staring down him is ugly and mutated. It looks like a mix and match of animals similar to ones he'd find back on Earth. Shiro can see a hoof, a scorpion's tail, horns like a bull, and then some. Trying to name them all has given him a headache and he forces himself to stop. Whatever else makes up its body is strong and it's destroying him in the fight.

Shouts and cheers are drowning out the sound of his own breathing and the loud thrumming in his ears.

 _I'm going to die here_  he tells himself. Because it's true.

This creature is as big as the launch pad back at the Garrison. It'll devour him and he'll have to smell its rotting breath. His only hope is that it'll be a quick and painless death. If God had any mercy, if he can hear Shiro's prayers from out in space, he will give him this.

The creature, a Hellcrackle if he remembers correctly, wraps its long tail around his waist. His reaction time is slow as he tries to wiggle his way out of the grip. Even if he accepts the fact that he will die, he will not let it happen without a fight. Just as he digs what's left of his nails into it, it tosses him across the arena, slamming him into another wall.

Shiro blacks out,  hearing the crowd go silent.

Something else wakes inside him.

He stands back up, staggering back. He slicks his bangs back, his tongue sticking out to lick his lips. Eyes that were once storm gray are now yellow, fiercely glaring at the Hellcrackle as it slithers towards him. It's taking its time, believing that it's won this match. Shiro finds that irritating.

When the Hellcrackle is close enough, it roars in his face. His nose scrunches up as he leans back from the smell.

"What a putrid smell... Getting rid of you would be a favor to those that feed you." Shiro's voice changes, raspy and rough, sinister as he talks down this giant creature.

It raises up on its hind legs, jaw extended, ready to dig its teeth into his flesh.

Shiro didn't give it a chance. His Galra arm activates, quintessence turning it a bright purple. Using his hand like a blade, he slashes across the creature's gut, disemboweling it. The Hellcrackle stumbles back, it's legs slipping out from under it as it tries to get away from Shiro. Deactivating the arm, he licks his fingers clean of blood. The taste is tantalizing and he enjoys it. He enjoys how it feels sliding down his throat, mixing with his spit and pooling in his stomach.

"That's not bad," Shiro says, a lilt to his voice.

He steps towards the Hellcrackle, his sadistic smirk growing in size. The thrill of the chase makes his blood hum and he's loving every second of it. In his mind, he's imagining all the different things that he can do with this creature. How he'll rip apart all the limbs that are sticking out first. Then he'll rip out the poisonous tip of its tail and use it to stab it in its heart.

Seeing it trying to crawl up the walls of the arena makes him laugh, even more so when it's electrocuted at the top.

"Oh, you poor thing..." Shiro says, standing right next to the twitching creature. He strokes its twitching muzzle with the back of his hand, tiny sparks going up his Galra arm. "Did you think they'd let you escape? How sad for you to believe so."

The Hellcrackle scrambled to its feet and hurried to the other side of the arena, thrashing its tail about. The action is sporadic and easy to dodge. Shiro looks bored as he steps out of the way. This isn't the challenge he was looking for. He expected this creature to fight back in anger after the wound he's given it. Instead, it rolled over, exposing its belly more for him to cut apart. The blood pooling at his feet feels like such a waste.

His eyes wander around the arena, taking in the various weapons that litter the sandy floor. All for his use, of course. The Galra may enjoy their share of unfair fights, but not for their champion. Not for the one who keeps winning time and time again. They need him to continue their entertainment. Without him, who else will they watch to fight and destroy those they put in this arena?

Finding the most sadistic weapon in the sand, Shiro picks it up and tests the weight in his hands. He's seen it in action once before. A surge of quintessence that slices through anything. It has already made deep fissures in the walls of the arena and sliced through multiple fighters. Knowing that it'll slice clean through the Hellcrackle sends a chill up Shiro's spine.

"I guess I could make your death quick," he mutters, aiming for the creature. It's thrashing its many limbs on the ground, attempting to seem threatening. "Our spectators are probably bored at how you're just running away."

It still tries, though, raising its tail to strike him down.

With a flick of his wrist, Shiro swings the weapon, sending the quintessence surge flying. It cuts through the neck of the Hellcrackle, sending the head to the ground. Blood sprays out from the stump of its neck, raining down on him and the sand. Shiro opens his mouth, tasting the blood on his tongue and swallowing a mouthful. The way it burns as it slides down his throat is amazing and he can't imagine anything better than it.

The spectators cheer for him, their roars filling the stands. This is what he's always waiting for, the applause and the way they roar for him. The blood still on his hands and dripping down his body from the kill. The way his body feels after it happens.

This is what it like to be _alive_.

* * *

Shiro wakes up sometime later, staring at the ceiling of his cell.

There are bandages on his wounds, some bleeding through. First aid is only given to winners of the arena. But Shiro didn't remember winning. He did not remember anything about the fight after he's blacked out. It makes no sense and there's no stopping his brain from trying to figure it out. It gives him a worse headache as he tries to, squeezing his eyes shut from the pain.

_Pathetic._

The voice makes Shiro sit up in bed, his wounds opening and darkening the bandages even more. He frantically looks around, trying to find the source.

He is alone, though.

The only one in his cell is himself. There's a guard standing in front of the door but they don't talk to him and they don't sound like that.

They don't sound like a twisted version of himself, the voice sending chills down his spine.

_If it weren't for me, we'd be dead._

"W-who are you?" Shiro asks. He is afraid of the answer.

He tries not to cringe at the way this voice laughs; tries to bite back the bile that's crawling up the back of his throat.

_I'm someone you **wish**  you could be in battle. Someone you  **could**  be if you stopped being a fool._

"I don't..." Shiro wets his lips and takes deep breaths. "I don't understand..."

This time, there's no stopping bile from entering his mouth, coating his tongue with the bitter taste when he hears the laugh again.

_You will in time. If you have need of me again, if you find yourself ready to die, do not fear. **I will be there.**_

Shiro vomits what is in his stomach, bile mixed with dark droplets. They splatter his prisoner garbs and the thin sheets below him.

He screams.

He only hopes that it is not his blood.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sure I'm not the only one who's thought about this. I like to think that Haggar made herself look like Shiro in the last episode because that's who she mostly sees in the arena? After the druids attached his new arm, his subconscious just develops Kuro and _he's_ the one who's won most of the fights. The fights where Shiro just sees nothing but the end of the line.
> 
> That's my theory, anyway. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
